


One Rule

by shieldivarius



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Fluff, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-16
Updated: 2013-09-16
Packaged: 2017-12-26 17:43:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/968577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shieldivarius/pseuds/shieldivarius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil forces Clint and Natasha to have a sit-down, fancy restaurant date together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Rule

They, all three of them, were new to this “relationship commitment” thing. And they, all three of them, bad enough at it that it had ended up _being_ the three of them instead of just _two_ like normal relationships. Clint was pretty sure there was irony or something somewhere in having jumped from being happy being a one-night stand, gone-in-the-morning, your-name-is-too-much-of-a-commitment guy to balancing and caring about the needs of two people—and realizing he was happier doing it—practically overnight, but whatever. He was, at least right now, happy with it and wouldn’t change anything.

Except for nights like these.

“Tash, I don’t know what any of this shit is,” he muttered, glaring down at the menu in front of him and willing the French to translate itself. And then to start up a photo reel that might give him a clue as to what the translations meant. 

“I’ll order for you. I’m not explaining the menu.”

Clint glared at her, picked up his half-full wine glass and downed the Chardonnay inside, wishing it were cheap beer. 

There was one rule that kept the peace amongst them. Just one, at least so far, that had been created in the midst of their first real argument, in order to try and help them understand the dramatic differences in their upbringing, and to make sure that they spent time together outside of work. That rule rotated who chose what they’d do for date night, as stupid as it sounded. 

“You realize that wine is $200 a bottle.”

The waiter was at Clint’s elbow, refilling his glass before he could snap something back at her. Natasha had a twinkle in her eye when he finally replied, “How the hell do you know? There aren’t any _prices_ on this menu.” She took a sip from her own glass, lips quirked at him. He tugged at the collar of his shirt. “Coulson cheated. There’s no way this falls under the rule.”

“Clint,” she said, chiding him with her lips pursed, disapproving. Any restaurant he had to wear a tuxedo to was one he didn’t want to be at unless he was working, thank you very much, and even then it was usually Natasha going in and doing the spy work. Not him.

He had to admit, though, she was a vision in the black gown she’d worn, hair half-pulled up, away from her face but tumbling down her back, pearl earrings—a gift from Phil—adorning her lobes.

The restaurant was black tie, five-star dining, suited way more to Stark than to him. And Natasha could pretend she was comfortable all she wanted, but she’d balked when Phil had suggested the date. Clint would bet she wanted to crawl out of her skin as badly as he did, now that Phil hadn’t even _shown_ up to their bank-breaking dinner.

“Thought he said it was his birthday.”

“He did.”

Natasha gestured for Clint to put his menu down, and the waiter was there almost the instant it had left his fingers.

He and Natasha conversed briefly in French, Clint enjoying the purring of the syllables dropping from her lips since he didn’t understand the words, and then the man whisked their menus away and left.

“Am I going to eat this?”

“You’re going to eat it and you’re going to enjoy it,” she replied, sounding dangerous.

“Yes, Ma’am,” he muttered, tugging at his collar again. “ _Ow_ ,” he grunted, and dropped his hand—the stiletto point of her heel had found his toe.

 

Phil showed up just before dessert, after Clint had been forced to try _foie gras_ (Natasha’s appetizer, not his, and she hadn’t told him what it was until after) and spent a sceptical five minutes staring at the tiny quail that comprised his main course before she’d kicked him again and made him eat. They were waiting on soufflés and pistachio ice cream.

Phil didn’t look nearly harried enough for being two hours late to his birthday-dinner date.

“We don’t appreciate being stood up, Phil,” Natasha said as he sat down.

He smiled at her, looking only a little chagrined. “I got caught up at work.”

“You would’ve called, not just texted.” He bowed his head, still smiling. “And your birthday is in three months.” 

“How was dinner?” he asked.

“Whoa. Whoa. What the _hell_ ,” Clint yelped. Natasha shushed him, shooting a look at the couple at the table nearest them, who had started darting glances their way.

‘Lovely. Next time you don’t get to skip out or I will kill you in your sleep.”

“I wanted you to have a nice dinner. Together. Make up some of the one-on-one time I’ve gotten with both of you, lately. In a way you wouldn’t otherwise.”

Their waiter was hanging back by the door to the kitchen, and didn’t soufflés collapse or something if they weren’t eaten quickly?

“Could’ve done that better with Chinese take-out and beer. A couch. You, since we’ve all been on opposites ends of the earth, lately.” Phil turned his smile to him, and Clint was touched, really, but still stuck in a tuxedo and being choked by the collar so not quite _that_ touched.

“You know, Clint, I think you were right,” Natasha said. He raised an eyebrow. “Phil _did_ cheat the rule.”

“I didn’t—“

Natasha held up a finger. “And that means Clint and I will be planning next month, together.”

Clint grinned.

Phil put his head in his hands.

**Author's Note:**

> http://shieldivarius.tumblr.com


End file.
